


Heisty Potter

by mee4ever



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Criminals, Bank Robbery, Comedy, Crack, Dumbledore's Army, Humor, Kidnapping, M/M, POV Draco Malfoy, Still Magical, Unresolved Sexual Tension, but they're called the phoenix order and there's a twist, lowkey homophobia, lowkey racism, not really sure where to place it tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-14 14:06:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15390399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mee4ever/pseuds/mee4ever
Summary: Draconius Alexander Malfoy (the Third) has long been proud to say his Father’s bank has never been the target of a bank robbery. Little does he know, on this Tuesday morning, that this is about to change.Or the “Harry Potter is the magical world equivalent of John Dillinger”-inspired bank robbery fic.





	Heisty Potter

**Author's Note:**

> My gf [Lovi](http://crybabydraco.tumblr.com/) woke up one morning this week and was like "you're gonna love the dream i just had" and well, this fic right here is how much i fucking loved it. 
> 
> The lovely [randoyoyo](http://randoyoyo.tumblr.com/) did my beta reading, thank you so much! Any and all remaining faults are entirely my own.

Draconius Alexander Malfoy (the Third) has long been proud to say his Father’s bank has never been the target of a bank robbery. Little does he know, on this Tuesday morning, that this is about to change.

“Busy day today,” his father tells him, and it surprises Draco that he doesn’t rub his hands together like a gold-high goblin. He leans over the golden railing, his long hair boxing his smirk in, and Draco wonders when his father is going to start wearing it up properly again. He has gotten it into his head that he looks much younger not tying it up. Draco thinks so, too, but his father isn’t young anymore so he should really accept the fact and move on. He’s embarrassing himself. Draco casts a glance down at the floor and hums in agreement. It _is_ a busy day. Witches and Wizards in robes looking so expensive and new their seams are still sewing themselves, swishes in and out, leaving packages and boxes to the Bank of Malfoy employees.

“Did you see the papers this morning? Ghastly, just ghastly,” his father fusses.

Draco hums again. He has  _heard_ of Harry J. Potter and his gang, of course, the ‘Phoenix Order’ as they so stupidly call themselves. Grammatically incorrect thugs, that’s what they are. There isn’t a day going by that he doesn’t read about their shenanigans in the paper. Last week, the hooligans robbed a Ministry department, somehow getting away with authorized magic from the Special Auror Division, or SAD. Terrible name really, but fitting because they have yet to apprehend Potter, and managed to have him  _kept_  apprehended.

Just this morning, Potter had been on the front page of the Daily Prophet, smiling and winking at the camera as he was looting goods from a bank he was ongoingly robbing. No Auror in sight. Sad, very sad.

“Ghastly, indeed, Father.”

That the robber is an awfully handsome bloke, and that Draco doesn’t mind seeing his face draped over a whole page day after day, Draco keeps securely to himself. It isn’t like it is illegal to appreciate some good features every now and then, but the fact is best hidden.

His father lets out a dramatic sigh nodding at one of the old ladies who have just entered through the swirling golden front gates.

“Mrs. Figg is back.”

How she can be is a mystery, since she, in fact, is not a witch. Yet, somehow, she manages to get through the bank’s Muggle-protection spells at least once every two weeks and she always shows the employees Muggle pictures of her four cats, making everyone more than a little uncomfortable.

“Deal with her, Draco,” his father whines. “I have to go check on the vaults.”

He sure doesn’t need to check on the vaults, they have laid secured for over three hundred years, but his father does not like Muggles. Dealing with one on a regular basis completely sucks him dry of any patience he might have with them otherwise. Draco rolls his eyes.

“I’ll make sure she leaves, Father.”

His father disappears down the back stairs, leading him to the vaults, and Draco slips down the stairs to the ground floor to deal with the old lady.

He turns heads and causes whispers about him as he pounces down the stairs. If he, like his father, would’ve kept his hair out and not tied in a neat, business-like bun, he would’ve flipped it over his shoulder. He likes to imagine the people gasping at the motion, and it makes him smile mischievously. The clerks twist in their seats, and finally, order is restored as Draco makes himself disappear between the rest of the customers. He shakes hands and touches shoulders, laughs at terrible jokes and asks how wives and husbands and children are doing. He is, after all, the son of one of the most well-respected men of the whole Wizarding World, so he needs to keep connections good on the floor. Nevermind that he doesn’t remember even a tenth of the customers' names and he’s pretty sure he’s never before met half of them; his charisma and charm take him a long way.

“Mrs. Figg, how are you, dear?”

Mrs. Figg startles and snaps her head towards him as Draco puts a light hand on her shoulder. “Draco, my dear boy, you mustn’t scare an old lady!” she shrieks but she puts both her hands on Draco’s cheeks and smiles up at him. “Are you eating enough? You look a bit pale.” She narrows her eyes and puts her face impossibly close to Draco’s. The glasses sitting atop her nose, which magnifies her eyes by at least twice, don’t seem to do much for her sight. Draco carefully removes her hands.

“Forgive me, Mrs. Figg, it was not my intention to frighten you. And yes, I do eat, quite the sturdy meals every day at dinner.”

“What about breakfast?” Mrs. Figg goes on. “I always tell Mr. Tibbles that he needs to eat his breakfast!”

Draco smiles politely and nods at the picture of Mr. Tibbles—a cat—that Mrs. Figg props in his face. “I have breakfast, too,” he lies, because if one watches one’s figure, breakfast is surely the worst way to do it. Not that Draco Malfoy needs to watch his figure, but he can never be too sure. “Tell me, Mrs. Figg, what’s your business here this morning?”

“Oh, I just need some more of your splendid cat food, Draco dear.” Mrs. Figg nods like she has definitely bought cat food at the bank before and Draco contains a wince.

“I’m sure Mr. Tybalt down the street has even better cat food than we do here, Mrs. Figg, and I am not saying that to be modest. Cat food isn’t… our specialty, you see.”

“Is that so?” Mrs. Figg asks and looks to think it over. Draco inconspicuously leads her towards the exit. Mrs. Figg keeps talking and talking all the way down the street and Draco indulges, more and more absently but even stepping outside, until she finally disappears inside of the animal-store that is actually located down the street. Draco takes a large breath and turns towards the bank again. The outside looks, if possible, even grander than the inside. Ironically, he thinks that it’s almost laughable to even consider the possibility of robbing this place. He marvels at the dragon patterns painted in silver on the green mosaic base of the front and the big, metallic lettering “Bank of Malfoy, est. 1682” pushing out of it, as if alive. He steps up to the door and it opens for him. Vincent tips his head to him and Draco motions for him to follow him off to the side. Vincent, the security guard, plods over and Draco leans into his space, whispering frantically.

“I know Mrs. Figg can be quite persuasive, but we need to keep her out of here when Father is around.”

“I know, Draco, I beg you pardon,” Vincent says, hanging his head.

“Your,” Draco corrects.

Vincent looks up. “Huh?”

“It’s ‘beg your pardon’, not-” Draco shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. Mrs. Figg-”

And he’s interrupted by an entirely too handsome Harry Potter barging in through the door with a blue-haired, adolescent boy in a chokehold.

It should be noted that Draco Malfoy is a flaming homosexual with daddy issues and a flair for the dramatics, and those are the only couple of reasons he will ever admit to finding the whole thing that is about to ensue a somewhat turn-on. You see, Harry Potter—not only to Draco’s eyes—is a rather handsome man in his lower thirties. He’s got bedhead for days, piercing green eyes (those were ill depicted in the black and white Prophet) behind circular glasses, brown skin which on his forehead cracks into a lightning bolt scar. He is tall, shoulders broad, a full beard at the perfect length. All of this Draco manages to take in during the ten seconds of which he stares at Harry Potter. To his defense, he isn’t alone in his staring. When a man holds a child and yells he’s going to blow its brains out, staring is just your typical reaction.

“I’ve seen the inside of Azkaban’s walls for twelve years, I’m not messing around! Stick’em up and drop’em!” Potter yells, pressing the tip of his wand to the child’s temple. Draco, bless him, knows that Potter is telling the truth. He doesn't just look at the pictures in the newspaper, he also reads the articles that come with them. Twelve years in Azkaban for armed robbery. He got twenty, but last year he was let out early on good behavior. Not the smartest move, seeing as he has now made a country-wide name for himself and SAD uses most of their resources and manpower to catch him. Again.

Draco also knows, by pure accident of course, that the two red-heads who have somewhere in the chaos appeared and are now collecting wands from the floor and spelling them out of hands and pockets, are the youngest Weasley siblings. The man, gangly and freckled, who grins wide as he crawls around on the floor in search for wooden sticks, is the sixth son, Ronald “Ron” Bilius Weasley. With a brutal reputation but no murder charge, Ron Weasley is Harry Potter’s right-hand man.

And then there’s Ginny. She looks both more composed and well mannered than either of the men, her eyes keep roaming the room in search for an enemy to take down. She’s the youngest, and also the only girl of the seven siblings, but her statue is confident, her chin is up and there is no way Draco will keep his wand if he so tries to fish it out of its holster. Draco can’t help but be more terrified of her than the two others combined.

Draco dares himself a look around the room. Every customer and clerk stand as still as they can. Some look terrified, some look outright excited.  _Think, to be in a bank robbery!_ Pansy had exclaimed the other night, and Draco thinks maybe these people are like her: idiots. But later, he will still go on to juice this story to her until there is nothing left of it.

Draco doesn’t need to reach for his wand to get it taken away from him. Ginny’s eagle eyes see that he still has his and she wordlessly rips it out its holster. Draco doesn’t like it one bit, he’s not been wandless in a long time and it makes him feel naked. She swooshes her wand around for another couple seconds before she stands back, seemingly pleased with her work.

“Secured,” she says.

Potter then lets go of the kid, who turns around and holds an expecting hand up to Potter’s face. “Great job, Teddy boy,” Potter praises. “Run out to Auntie Minny by the car and she’ll have your promised ice-cream.”

Draco completely drops his chin as the boy nods and grins, Potter ruffling his hair before he heads off towards the exit and his treat. Never would Draco have thought they’d use a child to get everyone to drops their wands.

“Alright!” Potter puts his wand recklessly behind his ear and claps his hands once. “Who’s in charge of this fine establishment?”

Realising his father is down in the vaults, looking at security, none other than Draco himself is the person of the most authority to deal with this type of situation. It seems not only he thinks so, but the clerks all have their gazes turned to him and because all the clerks watch him, the rest of the customers also start shifting their eyes to their appointed scapegoat.

As the sole heir of the most prestigious bank in London and son of such well-known parents, Draco is all but surprised that Harry Potter calls him “Young Malfoy” when Draco takes a measured step forward. However, he doesn't care for the tingle of excitement the words sends down his spine all the way to his toes.

“At your service,” Draco drawls sarcastically to hide the fact that he feels like he’s about to crap his expensive trousers. There’s a twinkle in Potter’s eye as he cocks his head and gives Draco a once-over.

“Splendid! Then you don’t mind giving me and my friend Ron here the grand tour of your vaults, do you?”

Draco stares at him. “Are you serious?”

“Sirius is my uncle; I’m Harry James Potter, at  _your_ service.” If he’d worn a hat, Draco’s sure he would’ve tipped it. “You better be hurrying now, darlin’, we got a clock to race against.” He taps his wrist—not wearing a watch—and points towards the vaults. “Off we go.”

Draco swallows. “I’ll need my wand back.”

Potter takes his own wand down from behind his ear and lazily points it at Draco. “See, we don’t believe that for even a second.”

Draco nods, trying not to look embarrassed. “Very well, then.”

Potter steps up and puts a strong hand down on Draco’s shoulder, indicating with a sweeping gesture for Draco to lead the way. There’s nothing Draco can do than to do as told, even though he knows that they’re going to be robbed clean. A couple of weeks ago, the Phoenix Order, with Potter in the front, had robbed  _Gringotts_  and managed to empty an entire personal vault. This would surely be no less of a raid.

Harry Potter is a cocky son of a bitch and that— together with the ridiculous amount of wealth stored here—must be the reason for why he has decided to rob the Malfoy’s bank. Draco honestly doesn’t know if he’s a criminal mastermind, or just reckless enough to try. Ginny remains in the front room, surely to keep a look-out for SAD and keep everyone  _not_  robbing the bank under control. There’s no doubt in Draco’s mind she’ll manage to hold down the fort.

Draco, Potter, and Ron trudge down the black-walled corridors quickly, lanterns lighting themselves as they get closer, casting them in terrible shadows. Draco usually thinks it’s quite cosy down here, with the velvet rugs and pretty artworks, but finds it much scarier faced with the on-going robbery. There’s the edge of a robe and a wave of blonde hair turning around a corner further inside, but Draco manages to catch it. “Father!” he calls out. “We have… unexpected visitors!”

“Unexpected?” Potter whispers. “Didn’t you think we were going to show up eventually?”

“Fame has gotten to your head,” Draco hisses. Potter just grins and pokes his wand jokingly into Draco’s arm. Draco’s father, however, does not answer. Even when Draco calls out for him again, nor when Ron goes to find him.

He comes back quickly, shrugging and saying they don’t have time to worry about it anyway. Draco thinks that there’s nothing to worry about, he’s pretty sure that his father isn’t planning some sort of ambush, but rather hiding like a coward. Damn him.

As Potter so rightfully expected, Draco doesn’t need his wand to get into either of their vaults. He only has to put his hand on the doors and they open softly for him with a quiet “swish.” Magic sure as hell isn’t working in his favour now, and this is surely an aspect of a robbery that no one has been smart enough to think about.

Draco has, of course, seen the insides of these vaults a great many times, but they always make him take a step back and admire them in awe. The front of the deposit boxes, which are covering the three walls to the right, left, and in front of the door, are glazed with black and green, and they reflect the light like white diamonds. In the middle sits a table, sporting squiggly wooden legs and a marble top.

Ron whistles. “Got some fancy people visiting your bank regularly, do you?”

“We do,” Draco responds flatly.

“See, the Malfoy’s are fancy people themselves, too, wouldn’t you agree?” Potter asks and winks at Draco. Draco ignores him and crosses his arms. Potter waves a hand around. “Go on then,” he says. “We haven’t got all day.”

“What would you have me do?” Draco asks, shrugging.

“Oh, what  _wouldn’t_  I have you do?” Potter asks with a bob of his eyebrows. Draco dies inside. Potter then impatiently explains, “We need to get into the deposit boxes. So. Well. Open them.”

“What? All of them?”

Potter blinks at him, waving his wand around. “This is a robbery,” he says as if quoting something. “Give us all the money?”

“I can’t just open all the boxes!”

“Darlin’,” Potter says and points the wand at him. “I don’t see you havin’ much of a choice here.”

Draco, not wanting to piss his pants in front of someone so attractive, does as he’s told. He mutters about SAD and Aurors and someone catching them eventually while Potter and Ron start pulling out box after box and pouring the contents down in bags that never seem to fill up. Potter pulls Draco to the second vault and makes him open that one, and he ogles Draco as he does. Draco feels very exposed and doesn’t meet Potter’s eye. It’s bad enough he helps to rob his own father’s bank, he doesn’t need to _enjoy_  it.

“Why thank you, Young Malfoy,” Potter says and steps into the second vault, bringing out another couple bags.

“You understand authorities must’ve been alerted?”

Potter throws him a glance, then one at his still un-watched wrist. “Sure they are,” he says with a shrug. “Wouldn’t be a robbery if no one called for SAD, now would it?” He smirks widely and Draco shakes his head.

Potter and Ron have six bags that barely look half full when Potter grabs Draco’s shoulder again and leads him back out. “Time to go!” Potter shouts, sounding much like a child going to the candy store.

“Are we taking hostages?” Ron asks as they hurry up the corridors to the main floor again.

Potter looks at Draco as if he has for a second forgotten he’s not usually with them, “Ehh… Yes! But, singular, Ron, singular. Just this one.”

“Why? Not like we need to?” Ron scrunches his nose and picks up the pace as he slams the doors open and they rumble onto the main floor again. The whole room looks exactly like it did when they left. Not a single person has moved, and when Draco sees Ginny Weasley lounging in one of the armchairs in the waiting area, chin to her chest and eyes closed, he wonders for a second if she has Body Locked the whole room.

“We’re taking him,” Potter decides. He grins at Draco and adds, “We said we were going to pick up something sweet on the way!” He wolf-whistles, Ginny flies up from the armchair and Ron and Potter each throw a bag at her which she plucks out of the air easily.

Ron rolls his eyes. “Sweets, Harry, sweets! Plural, and for  _everyone_!”

Potter gives Draco a long look, knitting his eyebrows. “I’m not sharing!” he yells and Draco dizzily stumbles.

The entrance doors open for them as they get close and Draco twists his head to see everyone look at them leaving. “Right!” Ginny calls out. “You’re all welcome to continue with your days, thank you very much for your patience!” She waves and throws kisses to shocked upperclassmen.

Draco is forced to look forward not to stumble on the cobble. He has yet to realise that he’s actually getting kidnapped.

“And where do you reckon we fit him?” Ginny asks as she sprints up and they head across the street, cars honking and people exclaiming.

“Didn’t think of that!” Harry shouts back.

Ron turns and runs backwards to be able to point at Draco. “Put him in the trunk!”

Draco stops dead in his tracks, almost knocking Potter over. “I’m NOT getting in the trunk!”

“Don't you worry, Young Malfoy, the trunk is needed for all the goodies we snatched from Daddy’s little bank.” He drags Draco along and Draco reluctantly keeps going.

They make way quickly down the street, and Draco understands they’ve reached their destination as he sees a small, light blue Ford Anglia that the boy Teddy leans against, licking a ginormous Florean Fortescue’s ice-cream. Draco knows because he had the exact same cone last weekend on an otherwise extremely lame date. Potter shouts for Ginny who, out of nowhere, comes up and grabs Draco’s arm in Potter’s stead. Draco squeals at the sudden change and the colour rises to his cheeks. He sees Potter wrap an arm around the kid’s midsection and fling him up, to the kid’s outrageous laughter, before swinging them both into the passenger seat. Ginny pushes Draco up to the car and opens the back door for him before shoving him inside. Draco falls face first into the faux leather seating and tries with all his might and limbs to get a sense of what is up and what is down. As he flops up, Ginny and Ron both slide in on either side of him, pressing their bodies to each of his sides—the goddamned car is tiny. The engine rears and a second later, they’re off.

Draco, tumbled and hair surely looking like a bird’s nest, does not move a muscle. In the driver’s seat, Draco can only see a bush of the fifth robber’s hair. He knows—Merlin, how much robber gossip is he reading on a daily basis?—that it’s none other than Hermione J. Granger.

Although, it is not just because of the papers that Draco knows about this particular one. Draco also went to Hogwarts at the same time Granger did, only he was two years behind her. Graduating top of her class and as one of the highest ranking graduates of modern times, Granger could’ve easily gone anywhere in the world a decade ago... Had she not been Muggle-born. The political climate had looked different back then, and the great respect Draco had held towards the brown skinned, browned eyed, knowledge machine of a woman, had been kept under as much wrap as the fact that he had started to pine after men. It’s different now, but after ten years of crime, it’s not like Granger can suddenly turn a new leaf.

“I see we’re deviating from the plan again, Harry,” she says and Potter waves a hand at her.

“He’s just a bonus for a mile or two.”

Draco hopes that means that they’ll  _release_ him in a mile or two. The Phoenix Order has a reputation proceeding them that they, as a rule, do not kill unless strictly necessary. Draco casts a glance at Ginny, determined to make sure he’s not becoming a necessary target.

Potter bounces Teddy on his knee and turns in his seat as the car, without warning, lifts from the ground and takes to the air. “How you liking my getaway ride?” he asks cheerily. Draco barely hears him because he’s full-on panicking. As if it wasn’t enough that he’s wandless and forced into a moving vehicle together with a bunch of first-class criminals, he now also must be  _up in the bloody air in a machine certainly not made for flying?_

Ginny tires of his struggles quickly and with a hand around Draco’s neck, she opens the car door again. Draco screams her in the face. Loudly. “If you don’t sit still, I’ll throw you out,” Ginny warns and tugs at him. Draco gulps and nods and Ginny leans out and closes the door again.

Harry Potter and his gang are completely mental, Draco decides.

They talk as if Draco isn’t there. The only one actually paying him any attention after that is Potter. A little too much attention, for Draco’s external liking. Internally, Draco marvels at the clear likeness Potter has taken to him.

“Better be dropping off our extra weight,” Granger says after a while.

Potter pouts. “Do we really have to?” he asks. “We could train him into crime, couldn’t we?”

Draco actually laughs but conceals it as a cough. Granger doesn’t listen to him, and she makes the car dip down towards the road again. They land softly and come to a halt. The area outside the car is rural, only a couple houses down small paths are visible and the city is far back. Draco stays put between the Weasley siblings as Potter steps out, hurtling Teddy out of his lap. The door opens on Draco’s right.

“Come on, Young Malfoy, the adventure has come to an end.”

Draco looks at Ginny, who looks back, decidedly not moving a muscle to allow him to step out. Frightened and embarrassed, he climbs out over her lap and manages just barely not to touch her too inappropriately. Potter throws the door shut again.

“So,” he says, backing Draco up against the rear of the car. “Did you enjoy the ride?”

“No,” Draco says. Quieter, and with more sense of urgency, he asks, “What’s happening now?” 

“See, darlin’,” Potter says and licks his lips. “We gonna be dropping you off here, but you better not be telling them kind police officers where you saw us go now, ey? We wouldn’t want to be starting off on the wrong foot, were I ever to come visit your bank again.”

“You have a flying car,” Draco pants.

“Indeed I do, my good lad,” Potter answers like Draco’s stupid enough to have  _just_ noticed the fact.

Draco groans. “You can go literally anywhere with it, not just the direction you choose first.”

“Right you are; clever and good-looking. Is it my lucky day?”

Draco blushes and looks down. Potter puts two fingers on Draco’s chin and makes him look back up, and Draco clenches his teeth not to smile back at the quiet smirk.

“Pleasure having you with us, Young Malfoy.”

Potter is scarcely seven years Draco’s senior, but when he takes Draco’s hand and kisses the bridge of it meticulously while holding Draco’s gaze, instead of shaking it like one would normally signify the end of a business endeavour, Draco feels like a schoolboy being seduced by one of his friend’s parents. In a good, non-at-all creepy sort of way because he’s definitely old enough to get bedded. Have been, as a matter of fact, it’s just that Potter makes him feel inexperienced all over again.

“You be good now, darlin’,” Potter musses and finally lets go of Draco’s hand. Draco puts his nose in the air and sniffs, not inclined to let Potter know any more than he already does that Draco kind of thinks it was a pleasure, too.  _I couldn't ever roll around with criminal filth,_ Draco thinks as Potter brushes a knuckle over his cheek as a final goodbye,  _Father would murder me._ But oh, how Draconius Alexander Malfoy (the Third) wants to.

“Right,” Potter says and snaps his fingers, “I almost forgot.” Draco stands still, pressing himself to the car and stares straight (HA!) forward as Potter rounds him and goes to pop the trunk. He shouldn't be so darn affected by someone he just met, who kidnapped and threatened him, and who robbed his father’s bank, but very, unfortunately, he is. Then Potter comes back and pushes a big bag of wands into Draco’s arms. “Make sure to get these back to the appropriate people, will you, sweetums? ‘Kay, thanks!” He pets Draco’s cheek quickly before stepping away and opening the passenger door again. He salutes and winks. “Until we meet again, Young Malfoy!” he shouts and the door slams closed behind him again. The engine roars and Draco almost falls to his arse as it pulls off the curb, tires screeching.

Draco stares after it as it lifts off the ground once more and keeps it in his vision until it is simply a dot on the horizon. All the money and expensive things hidden away in that scrappy car are never to be seen again. Draco swallows and looks down into the bag of wands he has been handed. He sees his own perching on the top, thankfully, and he breathes out.

He laughs hysterically when he realises he was just kidnapped and heavily flirted with by the most famous robber of all times. It’s so absurd and he can’t stop laughing, even when the tears stream and he can’t get air. It’s the most insane day he’s ever had and now he has to find his way back to the bank. He takes a breath and sobers up. It’s going to be a lengthy walk back with loads of time to think long and hard about one Harry James Potter.


End file.
